


Run For the Border

by putconspiraciesinit



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Fugitives, M/M, Nobody Dies, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, post-jeffburr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: The mission was simple: capture Aaron Burr, take him to Richmond, split the reward money fifty-fifty. The only rule was that he had to be brought in alive, and that the guards were not to speak to him. It should have been easy.Then, Bigbee Perkins, the leader, does speak to him.And suddenly, it's not easy anymore.





	1. Humans are Social Creatures

It had been a while since Burr’s capture, back in Wakefield. The days since then had all been the exact same, incredibly routine, and they started to blend together in Burr’s mind; he had no idea how many of them had passed. Four? Nine? Seventy-six? Who knew? Time wasn’t passing normally.

Perkins found it a bit easier to keep track; it had been eleven days. Eleven days without speaking to another person. The guards didn’t really converse amongst themselves; there was nothing to talk about, because every day was the exact same and incredibly boring. Gaines had ordered them not to talk to the prisoner--because he was, apparently, by Gaines’ own admission and proved by practically everyone at Fort Stoddart, an irresistibly amazing conversationalist--and this just made everything so, so much worse. They were all bored, starved for human contact, and there Burr was, and they couldn’t speak to him.

It took a will of titanium to obey Gaines’ orders. And eleven days was a long time. Perkins was actually rather impressed with himself for lasting that long, with Burr doing everything in his very limited power to convince him not to. He’d tried just trying to naturally start a conversation; that had stopped after the fifth or so awkward silence. He’d tried just outright seducing the guards, and Williams had almost cracked, and Perkins himself had to admit Burr was very attractive, but...no. For a few days after this, Burr was as silent as the guards, and things seemed relatively peaceful (if unbearably dull).

Finally, on day eleven, Burr cracked.

 

***

 

It was dark out, and the men were setting up camp. All ten men pitched in, as usual; Burr insisted on helping, for whatever reason. Not that anyone was complaining. An additional set of hands made setup go that much faster, and being asleep was always the best part of the day. But tonight, Burr seemed more agitated than usual.

Not that he was usually agitated. He was usually very blank. Now, he looked as though he’d had five or six cups of coffee and was running purely on the caffeine. Agitated, accelerated, anxious, whatever the word is for that manic, on-edge energy.

Nevertheless, he remained silent as ever until everything was set up and he and Perkins were in their tent, meant to be trying to go to sleep.

“Major Perkins, I cannot  _ bear _ this a minute longer! My attempts at pleasant small-talk or at subtlety have all failed dismally, and I applaud your resolve, truly, but you must understand, I am a man of  _ society _ . This is nothing short of torture. Gaines may have given an order, but he is miles away and there is no way for him to know what you or any of us does or does not do now.  _ Talk  _ to me! I’m  _ begging _ you, Major!”

For a few seconds, or about a minute or two, Perkins did not respond.

Then--miraculously--he spoke.

“What is there to talk about, Colonel?”

Burr looked as though he might cry.

“Anything. The weather, the government, literally anything.”

“...The  _ weather _ ? Really.”

“Well, it has been rather conversation-worthy, of late! This amount of rain is quite unusual.”

“Not around these parts, not in this season. Not really.”

“I am not from around here, you see.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are.”

***

 

For all Gaines had talked him up, Perkins found conversing with Burr to be terribly awkward, the first few days. Every conversation seemed to follow the format of introducing a safe, generic topic on which very little could be said, saying very little on it, and trailing off into awkward silence. They chatted about how irritating it was that everywhere was so flooded, exchanged funny stories from social events, made small talk that never lasted more than ten minutes or so.

But upon thinking it through, Perkins had to admit that it was better than not speaking at all. Human were, he supposed, social creatures.

 

***

 

Day twenty was drawing to a close, and since day thirteen, the men had added a campfire to their daily routine. At about sunset, every night. They’d hunt and kill something for dinner, sit around the fire, and  _ talk _ while eating. God, Gaines would be furious, but the trip had suddenly become so much less torturous.

The fire roared, and the men had just about finished eating the deer Johnson had managed to shoot down earlier.

“The city was practically empty, and the army hadn’t arrived yet. Well, the redcoats must have thought it would be an easy capture, but they had another thing coming! We beat them back, just the small local militia, aided by college students.”

“Students!”

“I rallied them behind me and led them into battle. The British ran away with their tails between their legs. We won!”

“Woo!”

Burr beamed.

“General Washington refused to acknowledge it, but I tell you, the joy of victory is nigh on impossible to dampen. We drank ourselves unconscious that night in celebration. I shall never forget it.”

Without realizing it, Perkins found himself smiling. Everyone was, at the moment. Burr’s unrelenting cheer was contagious, and apparently transmitted through conversation. The war stories brought it out especially well.

So this was what Gaines was talking about.


	2. The True Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson breaking Burr's nose isn't really historically accurate, or rather it's no more likely than Burr having broken his nose by falling over or any other possibility  
> Everything else about Jefferson mistreating Burr is accurate though  
> He was a terrible boss

By day twenty-two, Perkins no longer found conversing with Burr to be any sort of awkward. In fact, it was almost scary how natural it felt. No, scratch that: it  _ was _ scary. Full stop. He hadn’t met Burr even a month ago, and they hadn’t exactly met on good terms; namely, Perkins had somewhat chased Burr and his traveling companion around at some ungodly hour of the night, straight into Gaines, who had promptly captured them. He and Gaines had an agreement, to split the reward money fifty-fifty after taking Burr to Richmond to stand trial. By all means, he and Burr should not have gotten along.

But there they were, chatting like old friends throughout the day, swapping stories over the fire every night.

Perkins could take some comfort, at least, in the fact that he wasn’t the only one to break the No Speaking With The Prisoner Under Any Circumstances rule. The others had followed the  _ second _ Perkins had gone. They’d started talking with each other more, too; it was as if Burr’s mere social presence was enough to send the whole group into conversation mode. Gaines was absolutely right, it was impossible not to like Burr. Occasionally, Perkins wondered why he’d even tried in the first place. The first eleven days of the trip had been so boring it almost wasn’t worth it, even for a thousand dollars. The idea, now, of going  _ thirty _ or so days that way seemed ridiculous. Nightmarish. Unreasonable.

Thirty days trudging around through the woods without any sort of contact with another person besides, perhaps, the occasional exchange of maybe two or three words.

No, indeed, thirty days trudging around through the woods while talking, chatting, telling stories, complaining, that was infinitely better, and Perkins just couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Let Gaines try to survive the other scenario! Certainly he wouldn’t have made it, either.

 

***

 

Day twenty-four ended on the same jovial note as usual, and the men retired to their tents well-fed and ready to try and get a good night’s sleep.

As usual, Perkins and Burr shared a tent. At first, this had been a security measure, in case Burr tried to escape; he’d be hard pressed to go through Perkins, who was very strong, very fast, and had over a foot on him. Someone as diminutive as Burr would be hard pressed to get through any of the guards, really, but Perkins seemed like the hardest, so he slept in the same tent as Burr just in case, between Burr and the entrance to the tent.

More recently, the tent had been more of a social-ish sort of setting. Burr never slept, and he was as talkative at night as he was during the day. Perkins didn’t really mind; the man was a very engaging conversationalist.

But the topics were different at night. This made sense, that’s how it was with anyone. The late hours of the night were like booze in terms of coercing people to share way too much information in conversation. Perkins himself wasn’t immune to it, but he countered the effect by simply not talking very much. Burr could do enough talking for the both of them, and a good twenty other people, too; a true lawyer and politician to his core. And it was late at night that Burr discussed his political career.

He was careful about it--though someone less observant than Perkins might not notice--he never spoke about any of the more controversial incidents he’d been involved in. Never mentioned his duel with Alexander Hamilton. Never touched on the writings of one James Cheetham, never talked about his friends’ various confrontations with DeWitt Clinton. Mainly, he spoke of campaign events from the elections of 1796 and 1800.

“I like to think I am--or, well I was--one of the better electioneers in America. I understand how vain it is to say such a thing, but what can one do, hm? It would take a feat of great magnitude from somebody else to convince me otherwise,” he said.

Perkins didn’t know enough about electioneering to really disagree. It was interesting to hear the stories of Burr years ago, before...well,  _ something _ must have happened. The duel, maybe? But it seemed like Burr had fallen in public opinion before then. Perkins didn’t know. Burr never brought it up. The man seemed determined to tell only happy stories. War stories where his men won. Judicial stories where his clients were acquitted. Political stories where the crowds cheered for him and his little band. Whatever happened, clearly he wasn’t interested in talking about it. But it must have been big, to take such an apparently grand man down so many notches on the political ladder.

 

***

 

Day twenty-seven arrived and the men were near Richmond. It felt harder than ever, now that the impending trial was so close and the elephant in the room was taking up more metaphorical space than ever:

Burr was going to die.

It was the inevitable outcome of the trial, when it happened. There was no avoiding it, short of Burr somehow managing to escape. Treason was a capital offense, there was no other appropriate sentence. But now, Perkins wasn’t so sure Burr had even committed treason. Or, at least, it felt odd to think such a pleasant man would or could commit treason. Perkins chased the thoughts from his mind; it wasn’t his  _ job _ to try and solve the case. It was his job to escort Burr to a jail in Richmond, and that was it.

But day twenty-eight made it harder, and day twenty-nine made it impossible.

 

***

 

Day twenty-nine came to an end and Burr might as well have dropped a bomb.

“Do you want to know, Major Perkins, why all of this is happening?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why I stopped being the great attorney, the grand electioneer, the people’s man. I suspect you are aware it wasn’t the duel.”

“...What makes you suspect that?”

“You are too intelligent. You have the air of a man who knows I’ve been leaving something out.”

“Am I to suppose you’re about to tell me, now?”

“Indeed. It is a difficult story to tell, but I feel that I must tell it; it may change your mind. You and your men have been lovely company, but I am well aware that you have been assigned to take me to Richmond to be executed.”

“Then do tell it.”

Burr sighed. “Firstly, before I say anything, I am fully aware that I cannot prove that any of the things I am about to say are true, and I am as aware that you have no real reason to trust me. But, you must understand, I am desperate--”

“Please, Colonel. Tell the story.”

“I am sure you are aware that I managed Thomas Jefferson’s campaign in the presidential election in 1800.”

“Indeed.”

“That election is what happened. The reason I fell out of the public favor. Mr. Jefferson made a deal with the High Federalists to increase his chances of winning--but when both parties broke the deal, he feared they would expose him to the public, and so he cut ties with me and sent the press on me, telling the public that it was I who had been making deals. For evidence that I am telling the truth, you need only read the writings of one Mr. James Cheetham. Do you not find it odd that an ally of Mr. Jefferson so suddenly arrived to campaign against me--Jefferson’s campaign manager!--near the very end of the election, during the voting period?”

Perkins said nothing. Burr continued, increasingly agitated.

“By the time I realized I had been betrayed, it was too late. Some Federalists had filibustered the whole thing by voting for me; this made it all too easy for the Jeffersonian faction to frame me for attempting to grab power.”

“If... _ if _ all of this is true, Colonel, then why in God’s name did you not tell the public?”

“ After the inauguration, Mr. Jefferson took me aside, and he told me that if I breathed a word of what happened to anybody at all, he would tell the public that I was meant to pay him back all the money he had given me to run his campaign, and have me sent to debtor’s prison.”

“But surely, if it was to run his campaign, such a debt was wholly unreasonable?”

“Oh, of course it was unreasonable! But recall that he had just convinced the public through many different press outlets that I was a power-hungry backstabber. They’d have thought nothing of it. Indeed, they may have thought it justice. His allowing me to remain as his vice-president was viewed as a grand act of kindness, but in truth, it was to ensure that I would depend on him as my employer. To further discourage me from telling anybody the truth.”

“I...did hear that the two of you did not get along, during your term.”

“We most certainly did not! Look at my nose, Major. It is crooked, and skewed to the side, is it not?”

“Indeed it is.”

Burr looked furious. Not furious with Perkins, but furious as though he were recalling something terrible. The expression you might expect to see on an amputee combat veteran recalling the battle that lost him a limb, or a politician recalling his greatest loss.

“ _ Jefferson _ did this to me. My nose used to be as flawless as any other one of my physical features--”

“Wow.”

“--and he  _ broke _ it. He…”

All at once, Burr’s eyes were as wide as saucers. They were inside a small tent, yet he seemed to be staring off into the distance, fighting back tears, breathing shakily.

“He was furious...the Chase trial, I acquitted the man, and Jefferson was furious...he told me there was a cabinet meeting…”

Perkins blinked a few times.

“Colonel Burr, what on Earth…?”

Burr sobbed.

“My apologies, Major Perkins, I’ve no clue what’s gotten into me!”

“I think you should lie down, Colonel.”

“He wants me dead because I know too much--he’s convinced himself I’m going to tell the people what happened--he’s a paranoid, scheming,  _ sadistic _ \--” Burr took a few rapid breaths, tears now streaking freely down his cheeks. “Niccolo Machiavelli is green with envy in his grave! His spirit despairs for knowing he was never as manipulative or as cruel as Thomas Jefferson!”

Burr promptly broke down into highly incoherent stammering and sobbing, burying his face in his hands. This was somewhat alarming to Perkins; Burr had never shown the vaguest hint of emotion since they’d met, besides nostalgia and cheerfulness. He hadn’t been anywhere near this distraught upon being captured, a situation wherein one might expect a man to be distraught, but not Burr. This was entirely uncharacteristic of him. Unsure of exactly what the correct course of action for such a situation was, he reached over and put a hand on Burr’s shoulder.

“I’m, er...sorry, Colonel Burr. I was unaware of how...strongly you dislike the president.”

“I should never have said any of this, he’ll kill me...he’ll--he’ll hunt me down, and strangle me, or something along those lines, he has ears everywhere, I’m done for--”

“Do calm down, will you?”

For a moment, both men were perfectly silent. The only noise that could be heard from the tent was the nearby river and whatever wildlife was still active at this time of night. Perkins took a deep breath, and dearly hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say.

“I believe you.”

 

***

 

It was the truth, really. Perkins did believe Burr. His story was insane, but what he said did add up. It  _ was _ suspicious that Cheetham had arrived to formally separate Jefferson and Burr when he had. It  _ was _ suspicious that Burr had fallen so suddenly from public favor due to press outlets that were all, now that Perkins thought about it, affiliated with the Jeffersonian faction.

What’s more, Perkins had arrested men before, and he knew what false emotion meant to evoke sympathy looked like. He also knew several men who had fought in various wars, and he knew what it looked like when a man re-lived an unpleasant memory. He knew that expression Burr had made before breaking down, that thousand-yard stare. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Burr was definitely remembering  _ something _ that had happened, something the story of him and Jefferson reminded him of that he did  _ not _ wish to be reminded of.

And the more Perkins reflected on this whole Burr treason situation, the more he realized that it really did not make any sense at all. Where was the evidence? Why hadn’t he and Gaines been told anything? Why didn’t Gaines have a warrant? Why had Daveiss failed to find anything at all? Why was President Jefferson so personally invested in this, unless...well, unless Burr was telling the truth?

There was something very, horribly  _ off _ about the whole thing.

 

***

 

“You... _ what _ ?”

“I believe you are telling me the truth, Colonel Burr, or at least that you are not lying to me.”

Burr said nothing for a moment, looking very much as though he wasn’t sure  _ what _ to say, then:

“Will you let me go, then?”

“You’d only be caught again within days. You are unarmed and not exactly physically fit to fight.”

“But surely you understand, now, that this trial is not to be a true criminal trial, but an attempt on my life! Knowing what you now know, surely you cannot condone--”

“If I simply let you go, you’d be caught again. But if you are accompanied by somebody who  _ is _ armed and fit for combat, you might stand a chance. If you must escape, then allow me to help you in doing so.”

Both men were now running purely on adrenaline. Burr looked utterly dumbfounded.

“...You would do that?”

“I would.”

“You understand, you would be risking...quite a bit.”

“I do. Have you got an escape plan of any sort? Any idea of where to go?”

“Well...they would expect me to go south, to Mexico. My plan, if I were to escape, was to go north instead, to Canada; the trip would be longer, but more difficult to track.”

“Very well.”

“We should have to depart tonight, if we are really and truly going to go through with this plan.”

“It’s hardly a plan.”

“Well, it is  _ something _ . And we are close enough now, to Richmond, that tonight is likely the last realistic chance we will get.”

“...Alright. Let us then pack up and leave.”


	3. In a Cautious, Impersonal Sort of Way

By the time Malone woke up, it was already light out. This was incredibly odd, as it was unlike Perkins to let the others sleep in, and even  _ more _ unlike Perkins to sleep in himself. Still, those were really the most reasonable explanations Malone could think of, until he got up, went outside, and saw Perkins’ horse gone. There was a piece of paper nailed to the tree where the said horse had been tethered; a note.

 

_ “Gone hunting. Have taken the prisoner with me. _

_ -Maj. Perkins” _

 

Malone sighed. Why couldn’t the man have at least let them know in person? Oh well. At least they’d gotten to sleep in, and now presumably had some free time to sit around and do nothing.

 

***

 

At the beginning of the trip, back at Fort Stoddart, the men had made sure to pack some extra tents in case something were to happen to one of them. Perkins had not planned on using those extra tents while helping the prisoner escape, but, he supposed, this whole Burr debacle had already been so weird and so surreal, this might as well happen.

They’d gone on through the night. Burr was, if anything,  _ more _ energetic than usual; it made sense. He was used to all-nighters. In fact, nights where Burr actually slept were in fact less frequent than all-nighters on his part. Perkins, on the other hand, never let himself remain awake any later than eleven o’clock, and even that was pushing it. He had pulled maybe one or two all-nighters in his entire life. Every time, he wondered how exactly other people did it. This time was no different.

“Colonel Burr, how in God’s name do you do it?”

“Er, do...what, sir?”

“Remain awake through an entire night?”

Burr, that absolute madman,  _ laughed _ . “Oh, I never sleep, if I can avoid it! My body forces it every few days, but those occasions aside, I have better things to do, at night. Reading, writing, fantasizing and daydreaming, you know. Partying, especially. Parties late at night are often better; they have a different sort of energy to them.”

“So there is a rumor about you, which you admit is true. They did used to say it frequently, during the election, ‘little Burr never sleeps,’ did they not?”

“They have said that since I was a boy of just thirteen, just starting college. I suppose my habit of refusing to sleep merely reached its peak during the election!”

“And you’ve gone...how many years, like this? I’ve no clue how old you are, come to think of it.”

“Guess,” said Burr, now wearing an utterly mischievous expression that suggested the answer was not obvious.

“Well...by your face alone, I’d like to say you can’t be older than thirty, but you fought in the battle of Monmouth, so you must be...my God, you’d have to be at  _ least _ forty-two--”

“Off by eight years; I am fifty.”

Perkins gawked. “ _ Fifty _ ? How is that even possible?”

“I’ve never aged quite as rapidly as I find most people do. When I was sixteen, my friend group and I would play a joke by telling others that one of the four of us was only twelve years old, and having them guess which one; you see, they would guess me, each time, without fail! In fact, the youngest of us is actually Jonathan, but he’s always aged normally.”

“I absolutely cannot believe that you’re  _ fifty _ years old. You look around my age!”

“At this rate, I believe I may look around how old I am at the moment when I am...in my seventies, or so. Which means that I will likely remain physically attractive for all my life! How wonderful!”

“Has anybody ever told you, Colonel Burr, that you are a very vain man?”

“Well, yes! Many times. I do suppose it is the truth, isn’t it? But then again, is it factually incorrect of me to say that I am attractive?”

Much as he didn’t particularly want to admit it out loud, Perkins had to concur that it was indeed not factually incorrect. Burr was very attractive.

“You are...more attractive than most fifty-year-olds, I suppose.”

As a matter of fact, ‘attractive for a fifty-year-old’ didn’t quite cover it, because Burr didn’t look anywhere  _ near _ fifty, and would be attractive for a thirty-year-old. However, Perkins wasn’t about to make the mistake of gushing about Burr’s looks again. He was already fairly certain he’d never live down the ‘his eyes sparkle like diamonds’ comment. He had no idea what had possessed him to make that comment in the first place, really. Maybe it was the fact that Burr’s eyes really  _ did _ sparkle like diamonds, though that still didn’t make it a reasonable thing to say out loud, in front of Gaines and the other men and, of course, Burr himself. 

 

***

 

They rode for five days straight, Perkins frequently falling asleep on his horse, before eventually deciding they were far enough away from anybody to make camp and sleep (and that it wasn’t likely their poor horses would make it much further without collapsing). They resolved to seek out civilization the next day and acquire a map, and maybe some food that would actually be pleasant to eat--or at least some salt to put on the stuff they were able to hunt and kill and roast on the fire.

They had multiple tents, but still slept in the same one together, somewhat out of paranoia; neither still fully trusted the other. After all, only a week ago, Perkins had had every reason to believe Burr was a traitor, and Burr had been Perkins’ prisoner. They respected each other, may even have been beginning to like each other, in a cautious, impersonal sort of way--but they were not quite at the point of fully trusting each other.

 

***

 

The other guards had expected Perkins to take a couple of hours, but when dusk arrived with no sign of the man, they probably weren’t being unreasonable to wonder what had happened.

“Williams, Tremblay, Johnson, Jones, you stay here and hold down the fort. The rest of you, come with me to search for Perkins and the prisoner, will you?”

 

***

 

As it turned out, civilization was only a couple of hours away. Burr had the brim of his hat tilted down to obscure his face, and fell uncharacteristically silent when they entered the small town. It was a logical safety precaution. After all, until he was in jail in Richmond, Burr was legally the most wanted man in the country. Both men somewhat hoped the sight of Perkins, six-foot-five and visibly muscular, would scare off any potential attackers. The universe took pity on them; nobody attacked them.

Mostly for the horses’ sake, they stayed at an inn that night. It was the first time in over a  _ month _ either man had slept in a proper bed, and of course, they could only afford a room with one bed. They slept as far apart on opposite sides of the bed as possible. It wasn’t a gigantic bed, but it also wasn’t so small as to make physical contact inevitable. Within minutes of lying down, both men were thoroughly unconscious, despite how cold it was.

 

***

 

When Perkins awoke the next day, he found Burr pressed tightly against him, still fast asleep.


	4. The Burr Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's jefferson time bitchessssss

When Burr awoke, it took him a couple of minutes to realize he had, in his sleep, apparently gotten quite cozy with his companion. In his defense, he supposed, it was very cold, and his body had been in ‘remain asleep for as long as possible at all costs’ mode. He rolled over, embarrassment evident on his face. Perkins made an expression that was, Burr assumed, as close to a smile as he could get.

“I didn’t wish to wake you, I...figured you needed as much sleep as you could get.”

Burr was almost unrecognizable, asleep. Awake, he was overwhelmingly energetic. Every minute movement of his body seemed backed by some cosmic energy reserve no other living creature except some dogs seemed to be able to access. His voice, too, had this inexplicably  _ manic _ quality to it, even when his tone did not. Even his eyes darted perpetually from one side to the other, incessantly, though this could just as easily be due to brain damage from the battle of Monmouth, but it still added to the effect. Asleep, it was as though every last bit of that infinite energy left him, and he became inanimate. Before that morning, Perkins had never actually  _ seen _ Burr asleep. Mostly because Burr almost never slept, and when he did, he always fell asleep after Perkins and woke up before him. It was downright uncanny to see him so still and...well, peaceful.

As it turned out, maybe Burr really did need sleep, every once in a while. He slept for another two hours, and Perkins didn’t have the heart to wake him. Not after he’d seen the man go five days straight without sleep.

 

***

 

Being frugal about the room meant that Burr and Perkins could afford to stop and have a drink before hitting the road again to continue the seemingly endless journey to Canada. Both would later agree that this was overall not the most intelligent thing to do in their situation, but after five days with nothing but river water to drink, various wildlife to eat, and each other to talk to, they were hardly at their most rational. And, after a few beers, they were even less rational.

“So, are we...just going to keep walking north until we reach the border?” asked Perkins.

“Well, I’m not aware of any other options, really,” replied Burr. “We shall seek out civilization every...week or two, for...reasons.”

Perkins raised an eyebrow. “Reasons.”

“Major Perkins, think of how you feel after being deprived of sleep for twenty-four hours. That is how I feel after being deprived of  _ society _ for too long.”

“Are you saying, Colonel Burr, that you draw your energy from shallow small-talk with large groups of people in the same manner the rest of humanity and indeed most creatures on Earth draw their energy from sleep? Is this why you do not sleep?”

“Why, of course!”

“I am not entirely certain of how to respond to that. Are you quite human, Colonel?”

“Most likely!”

“What an unnerving answer.”

“Oh! You know!”

 

***

 

When George Clinton had been sworn in as vice-president a year ago, Thomas Jefferson had been certain that then, finally, he’d be able to stop thinking about Aaron Burr. But that was not the case. If anything, Burr’s absence from the cabinet only made Jefferson think about him even more. He couldn’t keep tabs on the man, now. Couldn’t directly control him. ‘Do as I say or I’ll kick you in the stomach’ was a much more powerful threat when the person it was directed at was right there in the room, than when he was halfway across the country.

When Wilkinson had informed him of a treasonous plot to secede and conquer the western states, Jefferson had been nothing short of  _ elated _ when the general had gone on to say the mastermind behind this plan was none other than Burr himself. Did he essentially believe the plot was really and truly as Wilkinson said it was? No, not entirely. Did he know that the plot, if true, constituted treason and was therefore a capital offense for which Burr would one-hundred-percent definitely be executed if he were convicted?  _ Absolutely _ . Wilkinson had just delivered to his hand the perfect excuse to get rid of Burr for good.

At first, everything seemed to go wrong. Wilkinson had volunteered to get it over with fast, court-martial Burr himself and be judge, jury, and executioner; but Burr had escaped. Grand juries in Kentucky and Mississippi had exonerated him. Joseph Hamilton Daveiss, bless his heart, had really tried his gosh-darnedest, but he hadn’t been able to get a conviction either. And neither had Thomas Rodney. Jefferson, at his wits’ end, put a two-thousand-dollar bounty on Burr’s head; surely  _ that _ would go somewhere. He had no intention of actually paying it, should someone actually capture Burr and turn him in, but still. The idea of money motivated people.

News reached Jefferson quickly that a man named Edmund P. Gaines, along with militiaman Bigbee Perkins, had managed to capture Burr. And  _ keep _ him captured, too. Last he’d heard, they were near Richmond.

And then, someone--some commoner--had showed up at the White House with ‘extremely urgent’ news for him, and suddenly, everything was going wrong again.

 

***

“May I begin by saying what an honor it is to meet you in person, Mr. President--”

“Do get to the point.”

“It’s about Aaron Burr, sir.”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me he’s gone and escaped again…”

“Worse, sir--”

“ _ How _ could he have escaped? I’ve heard that Major Perkins is a veritable  _ giant _ of a man, and he had eight other militiamen with him--”

“Major Perkins is helping Burr escape!”

For a moment, absolute silence fell. Jefferson clenched his fists, so hard his nails broke the skin of his palms, bloodying his hands. The expression on his face could only be described as utterly murderous.


	5. In a Town Near Pennsylvania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two words: James. Wilkinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, "mr. kirby" was in fact an alias aaron burr actually used in real life (though as far as i know, the given name 'jonathan' was not).  
> i wonder if anyone's gonna figure out where they got "richard cheesman" hmmm thinking emoji

They were passing through some town near the Maryland-Pennsylvania border when  _ he _ arrived to complicate things: James Wilkinson. He had an unreasonable number of troops with him, enough to fill the tavern they were hanging around. He was talking as he always did, namely, loudly and obnoxiously.

“We’re looking for a Mr. Aaron Burr and a Major Nicholas Perkins? Anyone?”

Unfortunately, Burr and Perkins just so happened to be in that same tavern, in a room on the second floor. And, of course, they hadn’t used their real names checking in; as far as the innkeeper knew, they were named Jonathan Kirby and Richard Cheesman. Of course Wilkinson would ask for names instead of simply describing the people he was looking for.

Perkins briefly made eye contact with Burr, then wordlessly gestured towards the window. Burr nodded. They got out of bed as quietly as they could, and for the first time, Burr was very thankful he’d disguised himself as a fugitive by wearing loose and simple clothes, as it made things go a lot faster in the case of needing to get out of bed and run for it.

Burr paused for a moment.

“Er,” he whispered, “there is one problem.”

“What problem? We jump out the window!”

“Yes, well, that is probably the best option we’ve got, but...well,  _ look _ at me. I don’t think I’d make the fall uninjured, and that would slow us down. I’m going to make a rope from the bedsheets and covers.”

Burr removed the sheet from the bed, retrieved his knife from his belt, and cut the sheet lengthwise in two, before doing the same to the blanket, and began tying the ends of the four long strips together.

“...My goodness, you were  _ serious _ .”

“Of course I was serious! Now, er, I shall tie this to…”

“I’ll hold it, then follow you once you get down,” said Perkins, grabbing one end of the makeshift rope and throwing the rest out the window. “Do not wait for me. Run into the forest as soon as you hit the ground.”

Without hesitation, Burr grabbed the rope and climbed out the window, pulling the rope down to the ground when he made it down and Perkins dropped his end to make his own escape. Burr stuffed the rope into his bag; a bedsheet rope would give away that they had escaped from that very tavern, which was too much information for Wilkinson to know.

Perkins, for his part, simply  _ climbed _ down part of the way. He was very strong, and the bricks or the tavern were uneven enough that someone who was very strong might be able to find a couple of handholds, but about halfway down, his hand slipped, and he fell. Burr had to clamp his hand over his own mouth to keep from crying out in alarm, though Perkins managed to land methodically and avoid injury.

“Why are you waiting, god damn it?  _ Run _ !” whispered Perkins, as loudly as he figured he could whisper without alerting anyone to his presence.

Burr obeyed, and ran for the forest. Perkins quickly caught up to him.

 

***

 

They ran for as long as they physically could--which, given their very different levels of physical fitness, was a different amount of time for Perkins than for Burr. Burr could run surprisingly far for such a frail man, but he still hit the wall way too fast for Perkins’ liking, considering they were literally running for their lives. Without thinking, Perkins simply scooped Burr up in his arms and kept running, but of course, it was slightly more tiring to run while carrying someone, even for Perkins, and even when the person being carried weighed less than half as much as him. Overall, they lasted long enough to get  _ somewhat _ far away from the townsite before Perkins had to stop, set Burr down, and lie on the ground for a while to avoid passing out.

After a few minutes, Perkins spoke.

“Why did you wait, damn it? I told you not to wait for me, just run!”

“I wanted to make sure you made it out alright…”

“And what of yourself, hm? That delay could have cost you your life!”

“If Wilkinson had gotten you, I’d have turned myself in on the spot. I will  _ not _ allow you to be captured and quite possibly killed defending me, Perkins! It is out of the question! Absolutely out of the question!”

“One of us surviving is better than neither of us.”

“No, it is not. Have you ever killed a man, Major?”

“...I have not.”

“Good. Never do. It grates at you. Knowing you were the reason somebody lost their life, you can never be the same man after something like that. From the war to that duel with Alexander Hamilton, I have never killed a man I both knew and particularly liked or cared about; they were all either faceless and nameless enemy soldiers, or the man who had single-handedly sent my life on a downward spiral. And I  _ still _ hate it. So don’t think for one second I could live with myself if I let  _ you _ die while trying to help me escape. You aren’t some unnamed bit part or a personal enemy. You’re…” he paused. “Well, you  _ mean  _ something to me. You believed me when nobody else did, about Jefferson. You risked your  _ life _ to protect me and help me escape. You...how in  _ God’s name _ could I justify letting you be taken by Wilkinson’s men, just to give myself a slightly better chance at escaping?”

“You’d have escaped over a month ago had it not been for me! Have you forgotten that it was I who captured you and was in the process of taking you to be executed in the name of Jefferson’s petty vendetta?”

“Oh, Perkins…” Burr smiled. “At the time, you believed I was a dangerous traitor. You never had malicious intent towards me, you simply...did what you thought was good and right. And besides, you were nothing but civil, as a captor. Really, I had expected  _ infinitely _ worse.”

“How can you not resent that I was your captor  _ at all _ , in the first place?”

“...I’ve been held captive by much less pleasant men, Perkins. If anything, I admire that you had the resolve to treat a man whom you had every reason to believe was evil to his core with civility and fairness.”

Perkins sighed, but quickly found himself smiling as well. He shook his head.

“You are a madman, dear Burr.”


	6. One-Hundred-Thousand Dollars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some outlaws are wanted alive so they can stand trial. Others are wanted dead or alive; it's legally okay to kill them and you will still get the reward if you do, but they should still preferably brought in alive, once again to stand trial.  
> And then, there is Aaron Burr and Bigbee Perkins.

The next day, they came across what had evidently been a campsite. There were footprints, a fire pit with some charred wood, and a few pieces of paper littered across the ground as though the occupants of the site had left in quite a hurry.

“Whoever was here, they are quite disorganized!” remarked Burr, stooping down to pick up the papers. “Honestly.”

“They were also here recently,” said Perkins. “Look, it’s still smoking, just a bit. We should keep moving, and--”

“We should get as far away from this place as possible. Look at _this_!”

Burr, now all of a sudden looking quite alarmed, handed Perkins one of the papers he had found on the ground.

**April 6** **th** **, 1807**

**$100,000 REWARD!**

**One-Hundred-Thousand Dollars Will be Paid** **  
** **By the Government of these United States**

**To Whomever should Bring to any Office of the Law**

**The CADAVERS of**

**AARON BURR, OUR FORMER VICE-PRESIDENT**

**and**

**MAJ. NICHOLAS PERKINS III, ESQ.**

**By Order of James Wilkinson, General of the Army,** **  
** **& Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States**

**DESCRIPTIONS:**

**BURR is about 5 feet 3 or 4 inches high, slight build, abnormally small feet and hands, long black hair, black eyes, & appears to be in his late 20s or early 30s (although he is past fifty).**

**PERKINS is 6 feet 5 or 6 inches high, very broad and very muscular, short dark brown hair, harsh-featured, bushy eyebrows.**

**BOTH MEN ARE ARMED AND DANGEROUS.**

 

“Good _god_!” cried Perkins. “Wanted, I figured as much, but wanted _dead_!”

“ _A hundred thousand_ dollars! And I thought two-thousand was excessive…”

“Do you have the map?”

“I don’t think we are too awfully far from the border, now, if that makes you feel any less anxious,” said Burr, handing the map to Perkins.

Perkins looked over the map.

“So, we passed through here about…” he looked at the sky for a moment. “Ten hours ago, so that puts us at about...here. At the pace we’ve been travelling, we should reach Canada in another two days or so.”

“Avoiding the army for two more days shouldn’t be too hard.”

“The army and everybody who sees these posters and realizes they have a _hundred-thousand_ dollars to gain from shooting us dead?”

“...I am _trying_ to be _optimistic_.”

“Burr, if we want to be quite certain without any shadow of doubt that we have indeed crossed the border, we shall have to cross somewhere...populated.”

“Still trying to be optimistic,” said Burr, now sounding a bit more strained and looking decidedly not particularly optimistic.

“In _New York_.”

“Will you just let me be optimistic, Perkins? Please?”

  
“New York, Burr! Did you not say New York absolutely despised you even before all these shenanigans with Mr. Hamilton and the President and the government and all that?

“You are correct, of course. Should we look for an alternative--”

“This is the fastest way.”

 

***

 

“It’s been a month! Is there really nothing to be said for just turning back and letting the army handle it, Mr. Malone?”

“You can turn back if you must, Tremblay,” said Malone. I will not.”

“Think of the _money_!” cried Jones. “If we split it between the eight of us, that would give each man...er...well, some utterly exorbitant amount of money!”

“Is nobody else bothered by the fact that, in order to obtain this utterly exorbitant amount of money, we shall have to _murder Major Perkins_? I, for one, do not particularly like the idea.”

“Well, then, as I said, you may turn _back_ , Mr. Tremblay. But if you do not turn back, and you continue to voice these objections every couple of hours or so, I will make the decision for you, and _order_ you to turn back.”

 

***

 

“They aren’t headed for Mexico, Mr. President. They’re going north. Presumably to Canada.”

“And you know this for certain, General?”

Wilkinson smirked. “The last time anyone saw them, they were _way_ north of Richmond. Days upon days, on horseback.”

“Right, then...I want as many men as _possible_ out there looking for them. Recall troops stationed elsewhere. I will do what I can to set the militia on them as well. And those posters promising such a reward should be enough to send the civilian population after them...there is _no_ chance that Burr will escape me again.”

“Do you ever think, Mr. President, that you might be a little bit obsessed with Burr?”

“Do shut your mouth, General.”

“I meant no offense, sir, simply that I doubt the people will be kept in this anti-Burr frenzy for much longer; between Alexander Hamilton and now yourself, you’ve had them at it for sixteen years!”

“General Wilkinson. You, the people, the _world_ , can think whatever you wish of me and Burr. But know that even when the frenzy wears off and everybody turns to some new common enemy, even when not a single soul stands with me on this, even to my last breath, I will continue to hunt him down. No force on Earth, nor God, nor the Devil, nor _anything_ , will stop me from seeing Aaron Burr put six feet underground.”


	7. The Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship Development Time  
> planned on writing the Climactic Chapter tonight but i feel like the pacing in this fic is WAY too fast so here's some very mildly fluffy filler

Once again, Perkins awoke to find Burr cuddled up to him; this was, however, not any sort of abnormality, anymore. It had become routine, due to the fact that it got uncomfortably cold at night and that both men were somewhat touch-starved at that point.

They walked for hours, as usual. At about noon, Perkins gathered firewood, while Burr sought out birds and squirrels to shoot. They ate lunch in silence.

The No Talking rule had been abolished a  _ long _ time ago, but for that one day, Burr and Perkins hardly spoke. They weren’t cross with each other, or anything of the sort, but neither could think of what might be appropriate to say. This was to be--if they were successful--their last full day of travelling before making it to the border. If they weren’t successful, it would be their last day alive. What does one talk about in such a situation? The question took all day to answer; neither man said anything until past dark, when they were both in bed (or rather, lying on some brush on the ground).

“I don’t think I am going to sleep very much, tonight,” muttered Perkins.

“Neither shall I,” replied Burr. “In case anybody...shows up.”

“Perhaps it would be for the better if somebody were to show up. At least, if one person, unarmed, were to show up. It may be useful to have a hostage when we get to Niagara Falls.”

“A  _ hostage _ ! Good god, surely that won’t be necessary. We shall simply have to lie low. Keep our heads down.”

“Soldiers and militiamen and civilians alike have all been given not only legal authorization but  _ incentive _ to shoot us on sight. Nobody has any interest, now, in keeping either one of us alive.”

“Have I ever mentioned that I really do hate Mr. Jefferson? Because I do, I honestly despise the man.”

Perkins laughed flatly.

“After all of this, I can’t honestly say I am too fond of the man, myself. I cannot imagine harboring any love for a man who is trying to kill both myself and my…” he paused for a moment, unsure of what exactly his relation to Burr was. Unsure of whether his own feelings towards the older man were in fact of friendship. He sighed. “...one of my closest friends.”

“One of your closest friends!” cried Burr. “I am truly honored. We’ve not even known each other for a particularly long period of time. Er--not that I do not consider you a friend, of course, simply that you never struck me as the type to form such attachments quickly.”

“I am not that type, but I suppose that spending over a week with somebody under our present condition and fleeing the army with them can speed up the bonding process. Especially when that somebody has made a habit these past few nights of sleeping pressed up against you!”

“You are  _ warm _ , and the ambient temperature tends to be the exact  _ opposite _ \--”

“I did not say I objected to that habit, dear Burr. If I took any issue with it I’d have told you.”

“I cannot believe it’s been only nine days since we decided to escape together.”

“It seems almost closer to nine  _ years _ .”

“Indeed, it does! I only met you just over a month ago, yet I feel as though I’ve known you all my life.”

“I too find it difficult now, to imagine my life without you in it. Human psychology is odd, I think.”

Burr smiled. “It really is.”

For a moment, this brought the conversation to a halt. Neither man said anything for nearly a full minute. Finally, Perkins continued;

“So...neither one of us has any intention of sleeping tonight, correct?”

“No indeed.”

“Should we keep walking through the night, then?”

“Would you prefer we do that?”

“I am most indifferent to whether we do that or not.”

“Then let us instead lie here, at least until the sun begins to rise. This may be our last night in each other’s company; I should like to enjoy it.”


	8. Niagara Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hooty hoo

Even without the buzz about a Burr Conspiracy and two men wanted dead, a couple of men emerging from the forest looking extremely sleep-deprived and dishevelled would draw eyes. The looks people were giving were eerily familiar to Perkins; it was the exact expression he himself had given Burr, back in February. That ‘I get the feeling I know exactly who you are’ look. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure how Burr was able to bring himself to leave his home and subject him to that look constantly. It was goddamn unnerving.

Thankfully, there weren’t many people out, and if they really and truly did know who the strange visitors were, they didn’t seem willing to attack. Maybe the idea of confronting and killing a very strong man nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall seemed a lot easier when the said man was not right in front of you-- and with a gun, at that. Burr and Perkins made their way to the riverbank unimpeded, un-attacked.

Sure enough, there was a dock a few miles upstream, with a few unattended canoes tied there. The plan was really quite simple. Namely, canoe across the river. It wasn’t a particularly narrow river, mind you, but it also wasn’t insanely wide, and they were quite a distance away from the falls. Both men had experience in crossing rivers. Burr had a good knife, and was able to quickly cut through the ropes tethering one of the boats. It should have been simple. It should have been  _ easy _ .

They launched, and the  _ second _ they did, the soldiers appeared, as though out of thin air, on  _ both _ sides of the river. Tens of them--hundreds of them--an ungodly number of men, as though every soldier in the American army had been stationed at the border.

(Burr couldn’t help but wonder, just for a split second, whether it was even legal for them to have stationed troops in Canada. Was that technically an invasion?)

They were hopelessly surrounded. Any attempt to land would get them shot. The current was too strong to paddle upstream long enough to get away from the what had to be thousands of armed men lining the shores. And downstream, there were the falls.

Burr briefly made eye contact with Perkins, then wordlessly gestured towards the falls.

Perkins’ eyes widened.

“Are you  _ insane _ ?” he shouted.

“Perkins,” said Burr, “if we go over the falls, we have a ninety-nine percent chance of dying.”

“Exactly! And we are approaching them rapidly, so I would appreciate if you--”

“If we land right now, up here, we have a  _ one-hundred _ percent chance of dying.”

“My  _ God _ , you’re  _ serious _ !”

“I like one in a hundred better than a hard zero.”

 

***

 

Just for a moment, it felt almost as though time had stopped. In that split second, Perkins had the time to think through his situation. Stuck between absolutely certain death and almost certain death. How many men could say they had jumped off a waterfall out of  _ survival  _ instinct?

 

***

 

Burr had done some insane things in his life. He had attempted to carry a corpse that weighed twice as much as him across a battlefield in knee-deep snow. He had led troops into battle while actively having a heat stroke, stopping only when he lost consciousness. He had damn near worked himself to death on an election campaign. But he had never once done something insane to  _ save _ his own life. But again, this was not the time to reflect on the irony of it all. Burr was certain that if he did any more  _ thinking _ about his present situation, he might make the utterly rash and irresponsible decision  _ not _ to go over the falls.

 

***

 

“I suppose our only options now are to make it to Canada or to die trying,” said Perkins.

“Perhaps God will take pity on us. We’ve made it this far.”

The second the words left Burr’s lips, the canoe tipped and plummeted off the edge of the gigantic waterfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is in fact possible to survive going over niagara falls without any protection or floatation devices. at least 3 people have in fact done it.


	9. We Made It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Whole Entire Chapters In One Night?????????? yeah man i'm in writing mode

The only thing more utterly surreal than going through a very deadly situation and then waking up in a completely different location to find one has passed out, is most certainly going through a very deadly situation while conscious the entire time. Burr was able to brace himself for impact, take a deep breath. Try and position himself so he wouldn’t smash every bone in his body when he hit the water.

And when that happened, it  _ hurt _ . It was like hitting a hard surface. It knocked the air from Burr’s lungs and the only reason he didn’t reflexively breathe in the water was because he physically couldn’t breathe in at all. However, the force of water being thrown upwards from the fall pushed him quickly to the surface. After several seconds of trying to breathe and get the water out of his nose, now confident he could keep his head above the surface, Burr opened his eyes.

Perkins was on the surface too--but face down in the water, not moving. Chasing the thought that the man must be dead from his mind, Burr gathered every ounce of strength and willpower he could and swam over to him. He grabbed Perkins and thankfully being in the water made it easy to turn him over so his face was above the surface.

It was the same energy or spirit or whatever sort of thing had taken over Burr’s body at Quebec, at Monmouth, in 1800, that seized him then and allowed him to drag himself and Perkins to shore. For what might have been a few seconds or maybe a few minutes or maybe even an hour-- nobody would ever know for sure--Burr just laid there, heaving, gasping for breath, utterly high on adrenaline, feeling as though maybe he really  _ had _ smashed ever bone in his body, although logically he knew he hadn’t.

Finally, he recalled what had just happened and grabbed Perkins’ wrist.

He had a pulse. A  _ normal _ pulse, at that--not a weak, dying pulse--he was  _ alive _ . Burr took a few deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. (‘Calm down,’ he told himself mentally, as though he hadn’t just thrown himself over a massive waterfall. As if.)

“Perkins…” he croaked. “Perkins...Bigbee...wake up, we--we made it…”

 

***

 

The first thing Perkins noticed that made him realize he was in fact conscious was the pain. The awful, searing pain, all over his body. Maybe he was in Hell? But was it really  _ that _ painful?

“Bigbee!  _ Nicholas! _ ”

He knew that voice.

He forced his eyes open; there was Burr, laying beside him, looking thoroughly battered and even more thoroughly soaked.

“Burr…”

God, his voice sounded weak. Hoarse. Breathless. Perkins had to remind himself not to judge himself to harshly for sounding like that, as he  _ had _ just gone over a waterfall in a canoe.

Whether it was from the pain and physical damage, or the utter psychological shock, Perkins found himself unable to move.

“I think...if anybody can use my first name, at this point...it must be you, dear Perkins. Do call me Aaron, now,” said Burr.

“Aaron…”

 

***

 

By the time the sun set that night, neither Burr nor Perkins had moved from that spot on the riverbank, having instead moved just enough to put their arms around each other and fall asleep like that.


End file.
